


The Snow Queen

by e_p_hart



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Sneedronningen | The Snow Queen - Hans Christian Andersen
Genre: Asexual Character, Broken Families, Death allegory, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Families of Choice, Female Character of Color, Gen, Origin Myths, Persephone Cycle, Seasons myth, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4315290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_p_hart/pseuds/e_p_hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But the queen isn’t a queen of bees; she is called the Snow Queen, and she is very beautiful, and if you get caught out-doors in a snow storm, why, the Snow Queen finds you and gives you a kiss--” And here she leaned over and kissed Kai smack on his forehead, to his distaste. “And then you find yourself asleep and warm, for-ever and ever.”</p><p>“But that’s silly,” Gerda said. “That means you die.”</p><p>“And that’s why you can’t play outside long in a snow storm,” the Grandmother said, “or else the Snow Queen will find you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter isn't the end; but I'm not entirely happy with the way the rest of it went, so it gets its own chapter, and you can decide if you like it or not.

Long ago, when the world was still new, there was no such thing as winter. Flowers bloomed eternally in an endless, perfect spring. All was warm and sunny. Those humans who lived then were contented and peaceful, happy to spend their days tending the flowers and raising food for their families. There were no kings or queens, as everyone was glad to share what they had equally, knowing that they would never lack. And so it went.  
  
There was born one particular maiden, who was fair of face with such beautiful golden hair and blue eyes to rival the starlit sky. She lived with her parents happily in their home until the day came when she married and went to live with her husband. This maiden and her husband were happy for a time, but they were not blessed with children. For the first time, they knew disappointment and sorrow. They begged, in their sorrow, to know the reason for their punishment; but no answer ever came. Eventually, the husband left the maiden for another, though it pained him to do so.  
  
Bereft and alone, the maiden wept day and night; she cursed the heavens for her griefs, demanding to know why she had been cursed so. Again, no answer came. She finally cried out, in her heartache, that she wished she could no longer feel any pain, as this was too much for any one person to bear. All at once her heart froze to solid ice. The tears in her eyes and on her cheeks changed to ice. Her golden hair whitened, and her blue eyes became dull and darkened. Ice grew beneath her feet over the grass, killing it instantly. She no longer felt any pain, nor sorrow, only a pale regret and, with that, a hope.  
  
But she was shunned the next day because she withered everything she touched, and everyone ran from her, frightened by the chill she gave forth. The maiden had no other place to go, so she remained, living on the outskirts of her once happy home. Though her sorrow was numbed, it did return in sharp pricks that pierced her chilly heart. At times such as these, she found that the weather outside had shifted to blow flakes of beautifully wrought ice from the sky to pile up in high banks and frost tree branches. So winter had come to the world.  
  
The other humans grumbled when the maiden sorrowed, for they were cold and hungry, and so they went to her husband to ask him to send her away. He had been with his new wife for several years now, and they had not been blessed with children either. Tired of the cold and his new, nagging wife, he agreed to speak with the maiden. After the next snowfall, he went to his old house and found the maiden decorating the outside of it with icicles. Shivering, his breath puffing white in the air, he told her everything, from his continued unhappiness to the other’s desire for her to leave. He declared that they should leave together-- he realized how much he still loved her! Surely they could try again for a child.  
  
The maiden watched him blankly while he spoke. When he had finished, she stood, deep in thought. She would leave, that much was clear. But she did not want him to come with her. He was fickle, and his continued inability to father a child did not bode well for her. Her decision reached, she kissed her husband one last time. He stumbled back from her, cold and pale: her kiss had frozen his heart. Somewhat regretful, the maiden turned away and went to look for a better future.  
  


* * *

  
  
The world aged. Great cities rose up and fell, to be replaced by even greater cities that made a bigger mess when they too eventually fell. The maiden lived through it all, frozen in time, eternally young. She could reside in cities only for a certain time until they succumbed to the ice and snow and storms when she sorrowed, and she was discovered. She learned to leave well before that moment, and to create better things than mere flakes and icicles. Soon she could leave on the cusp of a storm, whisked along in a great sledge made from an ice filigree and pulled by great white shaggy bears. While she walked the streets and the sky overhead darkened, she never stopped trying for a child. She was married dozens of times, before she left, always sudden, always in the deep of night while the wind rattled the windows, always childless.  
  
Soon, disappointed despite her frozen heart, she quit the cities entirely and established a kingdom in the far barren north, where the days were short and so it didn’t matter if the storms blocked out what little sun the scragging plants required. She traveled the world in her icy sledge, bringing along her ice and chill; she resolved to one day find a child to spirit away for her own, since she could not have one naturally. Many more years passed before this happened.    
  


* * *

 

The devil was a great scientist, and was always making infernal devices of terrible design. He knowingly left his workshop unlocked; the demons knew better than to tinker with anything half-finished, and sometimes they were awfully inventive with the finished products. The mirror was the devil’s particular pride: it showed everything in the worst possible light, twisting what was good and beautiful into evil and ugliness. One night the demons stole it; they traversed the world, cackling as they confused humans and howling when they found something specially amusing. They flew higher and higher into the sky, convulsing with laughter as the world became more and more hideous. The mirror rippled with delight as they reached nearly to heaven, reflecting back the entire world in chaos and disaster. It proved to be too much for the mirror, which cracked into a million pieces and showered down to cover the earth. The shards poisoned whatever they landed on, killing plants and rivers and turning humans evil and ugly and violent. The demons laughed all the harder, and sped off to inform the devil, who was of course delighted with the havoc wrought.  
  


* * *

  
  
In a city not too far from where you once lived, there were two friends, a boy, called Kai, and a girl, called Gerda. They lived next door to one another on the top of a tall tower, and they loved nothing better than playing in the small rooftop garden, which was of course well fenced. They were in the age of innocence and imagination, and they passed many a long, joyful hour in Make Believe or Let’s Pretend among the cracked pots and bedraggled flowers and plants which were all that grew in that city. When they tired of that, or when it was too hot or too cold, they would go to Kai’s apartment, where he lived with his grandmother. She told wonderful stories, and made them delicious treats, and Gerda was always sad to return to her own apartment.  
  
One day, a terrible snowstorm had arrived, and they could not of course play outside; and so they were seated by the window in Kai’s grandmother’s living room, breathing on the glass and writing messages or drawing pictures for each other there while Kai’s grandmother sat on the couch, mending a hole in Gerda’s sweater.  
  
“I wish we could go outside today,” Gerda sighed as Kai pondered his move in their game of window tic-tac-toe. “I hate the snow.” And she gave the wall a little kick.  
  
“Now, child,” Kai’s grandmother warned.  
  
“We could imagine pictures in the snow, like in clouds!” Kai suggested.  
  
“They form too fast,” Gerda scoffed.  
  
“Not at all! Let me start: I think-- I think the snow looks like bees swarming.”  
  
“Bees!” Gerda laughed. “White bees!”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Kai’s grandmother said, “the snow absolutely swarms like bees. And do you know who their queen is?”  
  
“Because bees always have a queen,” Kai whispered to Gerda.  
  
“She flies with them on nights like these, surrounded by her drones; you can see where she flies, because it’s always the thickest part of the storm. She flits here and there: first near the ground, then up in the sky! You can always tell when she passes, for she peers into each window and leaves those beautiful frost-flowers behind.”  
  
“Oooh!” the children said.  
  
“But the queen isn’t a queen of bees; she is called the Snow Queen, and she is very beautiful, and if you get caught out-doors in a snow storm, why, the Snow Queen finds you and gives you a kiss--” And here she leaned over and kissed Kai smack on his forehead, to his distaste. “And then you find yourself asleep and warm, for-ever and ever.”  
  
“But that’s silly,” Gerda said. “That means you die.”  
  
“And that’s why you can’t play outside long in a snow storm,” the Grandmother said, “or else the Snow Queen will find you.”  
  
Later that evening, when Gerda was trying to sleep despite the shouting down the hallway, she was lying on her side looking out the window. On the edge of sleep she seemed to see the most beautiful woman, with dark, shining eyes, and hair as white as snow, come flying up to the window. She wore a dress covered in brilliant diamonds, and she smiled sadly at Gerda, pressing her hand to the window; a frost-flower sprang up. She scooped up the flower and tucked it behind her ear, and then beckoned to Gerda. But the girl had fallen asleep, and did not remember what she had seen. 

 

* * *

  
  
Winter soon passed into spring, and then onto summer; Kai celebrated another birthday, to Gerda’s horror, and soon would be going off to school. Gerda was a year younger, and would have to spend all day by herself. Kai was excited about his upcoming lessons, and their games of Make Believe and Let’s Pretend often revolved around his upcoming education. But on this one particular day, the last day they had of their summer, they were simply lying the shade of a stunted tree, enjoying the sunshine and the clouds, when Kai sat up all of the sudden with a cry. He rubbed at his eye.  
  
“I think something got into it,” he said. “Ow! It hurts! And my chest, too!” He clutched at his heart with his other hand.  
  
“Let me see,” Gerda said, and peered into Kai’s eye. “I don’t see anything.”  
  
“I think I got it out,” Kai said, but he hadn’t. It was a piece of the devil’s mirror, and another piece had pierced right through his heart. He became very cold, and was obliged to go inside and his grandmother put him straight to bed. The next day, of course, he started school; Gerda waited all day for him to return and tell her what had happened. She was waiting for him on the roof when he got back.  
  
“How was--” she began, but he interrupted her.  
  
“I don’t want to play with any babies anymore!” he shouted. Then he fixed on a flowerpot behind her. “What’s wrong with that flower? It’s got bugs all over it, ugh!” And he pushed the pot over so that it broke on the ground and began to stamp on the flower.  
  
“Kai, what happened?” Gerda tried again.  
  
“I told you, I can’t play with babies like you anymore. Now I have some real friends. Grandma says you can’t come over anymore.” He kicked her in the knee, then ran off.  
  
Gerda sat on the ground beside the poor flower, crying and rubbing her leg. She felt so alone. Eventually she picked up what was left of the plant and tried to straighten it out again, then went downstairs to her apartment and shut herself in her room.  
  
  


* * *

 

  
Though Kai said he wouldn’t play with her anymore, he seemed to take particular delight in finding her and then being mean. He’d pull her hair, step on her feet, push her over, call her names, throw pencils or bits of paper or paperclips or even books at her; he’d only leave when she’d begin to cry. Gerda tried to remember how nice Kai used to be, but he was too cruel now, just like everyone else. She didn’t know it was the devil’s mirror, in his eye and in his heart, poisoning him, making him listen to the other horrible little boys at his school. She just wanted her friend back.  
  
So she started hiding from him too, but he always seemed to find her. It was winter again, and she was on the roof making a snow-man, and he came up behind her and shoved her into it.  
  
“Go away, Kai,” she said, spluttering out snow.  
  
“I think I will!” he said. “My grandmother told me I could go out and play with my friends in the park, while you stay up here like a little crying baby.” And he pinched her arm till she cried for him to stop. “By the way,” he called as he tramped away, “you’ve got a hole in your coat.” Gerda touched the hole with a hand and sighed; without anyone like Kai’s grandmother to look out for her, she had no one to help when her clothes wore out.  
  
Down in the park, the boys were playing with their sleds, and making snowballs, and building forts and tunnels and snow-men; and Kai had such a good time he stayed out all day, and only noticed how late it was when his last friend ran off for dinner. But Kai was feeling especially wicked, and he didn’t want to go back home, so he kept building his snow-fort, and when it was done he climbed into it. He must have dozed off, for when he opened his eyes and looked out the door of his fort, the winds had picked up into the beginnings of a proper snowstorm. He was frightened now, and cold; he huddled into himself, trying to work up the courage to make a run for it.  
  
A beautiful woman appeared before his fort. She had dark eyes and white hair and wore a flowing white coat with the hood pulled up. She smiled at him. “Are you lost?”  
  
“No,” Kai said. “I didn’t want to go home.”  
  
“But you cannot stay out here! It’s much too cold for a little boy.”  
  
“I don’t care,” he said stubbornly. “I’m not going back.”  
  
“Well, then,” the woman said, “you will simply have to come with me.” And she held out her hand. To his surprise, he took it, and she pulled him out of the fort. “Climb into my sled.” It was a sled made all of ice, and pulled by great white bears. Kai stared in amazement. “Come in. You must be freezing.” He climbed in beside her, and she covered him with a soft white fur that felt and looked like a cloud. She gave a crack of the reins, and the sled began to move; she smiled down at him and kissed his forehead, and his heart, already slightly frozen by the devil’s shard, froze a little more, so that he did not notice when the sled took to the air, and how cold he was. And when she kissed him again, he forgot that he had family like his grandmother and friends like Gerda. Then she tucked him under her arm with another smile, saying, “Now, no more kisses! Or I shall kiss you to death!”  
  
  


* * *

 

Kai’s grandmother was beside herself with worry, and called the policemen, and though they looked and looked, no one knew where or how Kai had disappeared. After months of searching, the police gave up; after all, he was only one small boy and there were so many others that needed their help instead. The consensus was that Kai had wandered down to the river, and had fallen through the ice there, and drowned.  
  
No one felt Kai’s absence more keenly than little Gerda, who still loved her friend despite how he had treated her. She wept quite bitterly, and resolved to go and look for him herself if no one else would. It was a day in early spring when she set off on her own, with her little red backpack filled with what she could scrounge up. She walked and walked, and when she reached the river, she sat down beside it to think. She tossed small stones into the water as she thought. A turtle ambled by, and she said to it, without wondering, “If only you could talk!”  
  
She got quite a shock when it looked back at her and said, “And why shouldn’t I talk, young lady?”  
  
“Oh!” Gerda said. “I’m so sorry. Could you tell me, Mr. Turtle, if my friend Kai drowned in this river?”  
  
The turtle sniffed haughtily. “No one has drown in this river for at least a year, if I remember correctly. If that is all?”  
  
“Thank you!” Gerda said, jumping up again in delight. So Kai had not drowned! But where else could he be?  
  
“You might try the orphanage across the bridge,” the turtle added, waddling away.  
  
“Thanks again, Mr. Turtle!” Gerda called, and set off for the orphanage.  
  


* * *

 

  
  
The orphanage was very full of children, and they took Gerda in immediately. She wouldn’t tell them where she lived, only that she didn’t remember; and since her parents never tried to look for her, she remained at the orphanage. She asked every child if they had seen Kai, but no one had. By that time, it was too late, and the adults there wouldn’t let Gerda leave no matter what she said, or how often or sneakily she tried to escape.  
  
One day a couple came to the orphanage to look for a child; they were recent celebrities, and dressed like royalty. They looked at each child before choosing Gerda, who tried to say no; but they took Gerda away anyway, back to their enormous house. There Gerda had everything she could have wanted: rich clothes, delicious food, music lessons. But she didn’t have Kai.  
  
She tried to explain to her maids, but they didn’t understand, and just shook their heads. Gerda watched with alarm as the seasons changed toward autumn again, when she must start school. And her new parents were always away on tours and talks, and never took the time to see her even when they were home. It was at least, Gerda thought, better than her real home; at least her clothes had no holes, and she had enough to eat, and they didn’t shout at each other. But still, she longed to find her friend.  
  
Finally, her new parents returned from a tour, and called her in for dinner. Gerda told them everything, and they actually listened. “The police did nothing?” they asked in horror. “Well, we can’t let this stand. You may take a car out tomorrow and look for him, but the driver must go with you everywhere. We want you to be safe. You are known as our new daughter, after all.” And they kissed her and left again.  
  
But what they promised came true, and Gerda was allowed to go out each day and look for Kai, roaming farther and farther. But one day she went into the wrong part of town, and a group of robbers overtook her car, and took her hostage because they wanted money from her new parents.  
  
Gerda was of course very frightened; they had beaten her driver nearly to death, and threatened constantly to do the same to her. But after a sleepless night, she discovered one of the robbers had a daughter a few years older than she was, and Gerda told the girl about Kai and how she was looking for him. The girl had a menagerie of pets, like rats and pigeons and rabbits and cats, and they listened to Gerda’s story too. When it was done, a pigeon said, “We have seen your friend!”  
  
“Where? Where?” Gerda cried.  
  
“He was with the Snow Queen.”  
  
“Oh!” Gerda remembered what Kai’s grandmother had said of the Snow Queen, and began to weep, believing him dead.  
  
“Yes,” the pigeon continued; “she has long wanted a child, and I heard that she took him to live with her in her castle in the north.”  
  
“He is not dead, then?”  
  
“No, though she has kissed him so that he will not mind her drafty castle.”  
  
The robber’s daughter followed all this silently. Now she said: “I will let you go if you give me your dress and hair-ribbons.”  
  
“But how will I escape?” Gerda asked.  
  
“I can help!” the girl insisted.  
  
“I don’t know how to get to the Snow Queen’s castle.”  
  
“I know the way,” the great shaggy dog, twice Gerda’s size, barked from inside his cage. “I have been there. I will get you there safe.”  
  
The robber’s daughter was hesitant to give up her new friend and her dog, but Gerda took off her dress and her shoes and her ribbons and gave them to her, so she agreed to help them escape. It was easy: the girl dressed in Gerda’s clothes and lay down to sleep, while Gerda, dressed as the girl, took the dog out for a walk. Once outside, the dog barked, “Get on my back!” Gerda did, and he leapt away quicker than thought.  
  


* * *

 

It was a long trip north; they traveled by night and slept in forgotten corners by day. It grew colder and colder as they went, but Gerda forgot her hunger and chill when she saw the aurora for the first time. The met only one other person: a very old lady who seemed to know they were coming, for she waited for them in a chair beside her chimney which spouted thick grey smoke, all wrapped up in furs until only her eyes and nose could be seen. Her house was neatly buried in snow, and very warm inside, and she gave both Gerda and the dog hot baths and tea that burned all the way down; but she did not speak, and she only shook her head when Gerda asked if she would help them.  
  
“She is too old,” the dog told Gerda, who felt ashamed and apologized and hugged the woman. They could stay only for a day, and Gerda’s tears froze on her cheeks quick as a wink as she bade the old woman a sad good-bye outside and continued on her journey.  
  
Eventually they came to a place where a great castle of ice rose up out of the tundra, and the aurora hung overtop of it like a never-ending beacon.  
  
“Here I must leave you,” the dog said, “for I dare not enter her halls.” He gave her a great lick from chin to forehead, and then bounded off.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

Kai thought he was quite happy in the Snow Queen’s palace; he played all day in the middle of a great frozen lake at the exact center of the castle, making patterns with the puzzle she had given him. She promised that she would make him is own master, and give him the whole world and a new pair of skates if he managed to put it together properly, so that it spelled out the word “eternity”; but he was unable to do so, the shard of mirror in his eye blinding him to the correct arrangement. His skin was blue under a thick coating of frost, but he did not feel the cold, for his heart was frozen nearly solid, thanks to the Snow Queen’s kisses and the second shard of mirror. When the Queen was at home, he pushed the puzzle pieces around energetically; but when she left to frost the world, he simply sat, unblinking and unseeing and unfeeling, until she returned.  
  
She had gone to Italy, to freeze the volcanoes and the olives and orange-trees; and so that was how Gerda found Kai, sitting motionless in the middle of a vast frozen lake, surrounded by a veritable maze of passages carved in ice.  
  
“Kai!” Gerda called out when she saw him. He didn’t stir. She slipped over the ice toward him, where she grabbed his hands and shook them; but still he did not stir. Gerda began to weep, and the tears fell on Kai and burned him, so cold was he. But they began to thaw his heart, and soon the awful shard of mirror crumbled into harmless dust.  
  
“Gerda?” he said. “Where...how did you find me?”  
  
“Oh, Kai!” Gerda said, crying. “I missed you so much!”  
  
“But I was so mean to you,” Kai said, frowning. “And you still came to find me?”  
  
“You’re my friend.”  
  
Kai began to cry as well, and he cried so much that he washed the shard of mirror from his eye, and the last bit of naughtiness disappeared too. Now that he could see properly, he was able to put together the puzzle, and Gerda helped, and soon the pieces spelled out “eternity.”  
  
“Now I am my own master!” Kai said. “Surely she will let me leave. I want to go home. I miss my grandmother! Oh! My poor grandmother, she must think I’m dead!” He took Gerda’s hand and together they escaped the castle. The dog had gone, and Kai was quite weak from hunger and cold, and he could not go as fast as Gerda, and it wasn’t long before he glanced behind them, and said, alarmed, “The Snow Queen is coming!”  
  
A dark spot of cloud on the horizon was hovering over the castle, and Gerda resisted the urge to gawk and tugged on Kai’s hand, urging him faster; but the poor boy’s breath came too sharply, and soon they were overtaken by the storm.  
  
The Snow Queen drove her sled in the eye of the storm, and it was with mingled relief and horror that the two children finally reached her. “Kai,” she said in a voice like silver, “where are you going? And who is your friend? I brought you your skates; I thought we might celebrate.”  
  
“I don’t want nothing to do with you!” Kai yelled. “I want to go home!”  
  
The Queen gazed at them both silently. “You have melted his heart,” she sighed at last, looking at Gerda. “I thought-- I had hoped--” But she shook her brilliant head and her face twisted as though she would cry, though no tears fell. “I keep my promises,” she said. “You are your own master, and the world is your own. But here-- I will take you home, if you truly wish it.” She pulled back the fur on her lap and indicated the seat beside her. “You will not last long here in the north alone.”  
  
“I don’t trust you, you--” Kai started heatedly, but Gerda stopped him. “You promise?” she asked the Queen. “You won’t take us away?”  
  
And the Queen looked more sorrowful than ever, and said, “Of course not. I would not keep either of you here without your agreement.”  
  
Though Kai was doubtful, he went willingly enough along with Gerda, and they climbed into the sled. The Queen said nothing else, but gave a flick of the reins and off they went into the sky.

 

* * *

  
  
Their rooftop garden was filled up with snow when the sled landed atop it. It was winter again, and the Snow Queen had done her work well, for everything was covered with snow and ice and frost. Trees shrouded with lights and tinsel glittered from every window: it was near Christmas. Kai gave a great shout and leapt from the sled, calling, “Grandmother! Grandmother, it’s me, I’m back!”  
  
Kai’s grandmother was overjoyed to see him, and wept and hugged him and wouldn’t let go for nearly ten minutes. Gerda watched from the door for a while before going back to her own apartment.  
  
No one was inside. They had moved away, and left Gerda behind.  
  
Little Gerda drifted back to Kai’s apartment, where they were still tangled up on the couch together and didn’t notice her. The Snow Queen was watching from the window, hands sprouting frost-flowers, and such a look of longing on her face that Gerda’s eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away-- and the Queen was gone.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Gerda moved in with Kai and his grandmother, and now she had someone to fix her breakfast in the morning, sew up any holes in her clothes, braid her hair, and ask her about her day when she returned home from school. Kai had his friend to play with forever now, and he was sweet again. But as time went on, he began to forget his time spent in the north, and how Gerda had rescued him, and though he never became quite as nasty as before, he was exactly like every other little boy: forgetful, energetic, and a little selfish. He and Gerda weren’t in the same classes at school, and though Gerda had many friends, none of them were like what she had once with Kai. Kai himself was still very popular, and more often than not, Gerda found herself watching from the sidelines as he and his many friend caroused.  
  
Years passed much the same way, and Gerda, uninterested in the kinds of adult relationships Kai and the others started to form, threw herself into her studies. Kai now remembered nothing of his time with the Queen, and of Gerda rescuing him; or if he did, it was like a bad dream, nothing more.  
  
But Gerda remembered, and was changed by it. She remembered the Queen’s sorrow, and how she had reached out after Kai when he raced from the sled. She noticed how every winter in that city thereafter was usually mild, and the most beautiful patterns of ice formed on Kai’s apartment windows; and she knew the Queen still missed her adopted son.

 

* * *

  
  
  
Gerda was out walking late one night, back from an over-long rehearsal at school, when she saw the Snow Queen again. She had parked her sled behind some trees drippin with snow, and was tearing the pines off an evergreen bough with short jerks. Gerda, a young lady now, with long curly hair and a smart coat, hesitated before crunching her way over to the Queen.  
  
“Hello,” she said, and the Queen dropped the bough with a start.  
  
“You,” the Snow Queen said. “What do you want?”  
  
Gerda shrugged. “To say hello, I suppose. How-- how are you?”  
  
The Queen looked startled. “As well as I will ever be. How fares my Kai?”  
  
“He’s fine. He’s out on a date tonight.” She made a face. “He doesn’t remember you.”  
  
That was the wrong thing to say, for the Queen’s eyes went very dark, and she gathered up the reins and was gone in a flash.  
  
Gerda shuffled home, kicking at mounds of snow, and thinking, No one likes to be forgotten.  


* * *

 

  
Still more time passed, and Kai was engaged to be married, while Gerda had managed to avoid that shackle, she joked. She and Kai were still friends, though he was often rude and selfish without realizing; and Gerda stayed with him because while she didn’t mind being alone, she didn’t want to be alone. Kai’s grandmother had died, and Gerda had never found her parents-- so Kai was her only family.  
  
She saw the Snow Queen about every now and then, catching her checking up on Kai, who still did not remember her. She appeared to be resigned, since there were no flash snowstorms or killer winter winds and the like; but she always looked quite sad. Though she never came close enough to speak with Kai, Gerda ended up speaking with her from time to time, generally about Kai.  
  
“May I ask-- may I ask why you took him?” Gerda asked her at one point.  
  
“Take him?” The Queen shook her glorious head. “I did not take him. He wanted to come with me.” She looked wistful. “I have wanted a child for a long, long time. He was the first to come with me, when I offered. He might have died otherwise; it was such a cold night. He was already half-frozen.”  
  
“But you kept him locked in your castle,” Gerda argued.  
  
“Would you have him roam the world with me? I have a job to do; without me spring cannot come, for I give the plants and earth rest; and I cry for all the lost children, and their bereft mothers.” She was silent for a long moment. “Your mother never cried for you.”  
  
And really, what could Gerda say to that? She nodded, lips set, over and over before rocking back on her heels and turning away.  
  


* * *

 

 

As things happen, Gerda found someone who wanted her: he was a sturdy man with a bristling head of hair, who called her ‘sweetheart’ and loved that she was so attached to her work. He was one of Kai’s friends, a new one, and they met at Kai’s wedding. Gerda liked him well enough, when he kept his hands off her, and they could be together as they cooked, or watched a movie; but she wasn’t entirely comfortable when he kissed her, or held her, and she usually went along with it so as not to cause a fuss, wondering why people did things like that. She didn’t get the appeal.  
  
And then there came a night (it was the longest night of the year, and so dark, and so cold) when Gerda had had enough, and told him so, and he disagreed; and afterward, he left, and Gerda was dying. She lay there, looking at the ceiling, blinking in surprise, because death was so absurd and unexpected and sudden. She wondered what would become of Kai, if he would even notice she was gone, if would miss her, or try to come after her; but she knew he wouldn’t, because this wasn’t that kind of story.  
  
Instead, it was the Snow Queen who crept in, bringing her peaceful, numbing cold with her; and she took Gerda’s hand and asked, “Would you like to come with me?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I’ve waited so long for a child.”  
  
Gerda laughed. “I’m not a child any longer.”  
  
“But you are,” the Queen said, brushing her fingers across Gerda’s head. “In here. And in here.” And she touched Gerda’s heart. “You are not ready for death. Not yet.”  
  
“Will you leave me in your palace and forget about me?” Gerda asked.  
  
“Never. I have a job for you.” And the Queen smiled, and it brought a lovely touch of color to her frozen cheeks. “And we will work together, side by side. Will you come with me?”  
  
“I’m not ready to die,” Gerda murmured softly. So the Snow Queen kissed Gerda on the forehead, and her injuries were forgotten; she kissed her again, and she had left her mortality behind, though she was not frozen as the Queen was. Instead, she felt warm, and happy. She stood and walked outside; where her foot fell, the snow melted and verdant grass grew; where she touched, the ice faded and beautiful flowers of red and yellow bloomed atop the frost-flowers.  
  
The Snow Queen took Gerda’s hand, and they walked off, winter following one side, and spring fanning the other.       


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not what I wanted; I was writing too mindfully, and it didn't work, I don't think. It turned into a winter-spring myth thing, with Persephone being barren/Gerda being ace, and I don't know if that says nasty things about either of those ideas, but I didn't mean there to be, so. Either ending is fine.


End file.
